


Play You Like An Instrument

by Ailette



Category: Sexy Zone
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Imported, M/M, Mirrors, piano sex basically, this is probably the filthiest thing I have ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-06-05 06:11:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6692719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailette/pseuds/Ailette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuma asks for piano lessons and Kento detects a pattern in how those go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play You Like An Instrument

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Juliet418](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliet418/gifts).



> (Originally posted at http://ailette.livejournal.com/82295.html)  
> A/N: For Jen, who came up with the prompt and Ri who... agreed with it. xD And a quick thanks to tlist for constantly poking me to finally post. ♥

“No, that’s the wrong finger. You have to hit it with your ring finger, otherwise you won’t be able to move on to the next key fluidly,” Kento admonishes, one hand squeezing Fuma’s shoulder.  
  
“Maybe I just can’t move my fingers because it’s so damn cold in here,” Fuma returns before glancing up at the other man. If he looks slightly past Kento, he can see their infinite reflections in the mirrors all around them. It’s a little eerie in ways that he never notices when they use these rooms for choreography practice. “Or maybe I can’t concentrate with you hovering over me like that. Sit down, Nakajima.”  
  
Kento clicks his tongue but looks more amused than anything. “Any more excuses you can come up with? My house was warmer, but we can’t practice there when my parents are home.”  
  
Fuma pulls a face. “Why not? It was easier to concentrate in your room.”  
  
“Sure. Until we got distracted by the bed and spend the rest of the supposed lesson there, instead,” Kento points out, sternness in his voice not leaving even as his cheeks dust a faint red at the words.  
  
“There’s a couch downstairs,” Fuma points out helpfully, much more interested in the blush than he is in the grand piano in front of him.  
  
“Do you want to learn or not? Because you were the one who asked me to teach you,” Kento points out, arms crossed over his chest. “If you want to do… other things again, there was no reason for me to go through so much trouble to get an empty rehearsal room with a piano.”  
  
“I want to learn,” Fuma huffs, finally glancing back down and hitting one of the keys petulantly, the note repeating over and over again until he switches to another one. He loves learning new instruments and especially the piano has always enticed him. Or maybe it’s the people he’s seen it play. He has vivid memories of when he first saw Sakurai-senpai play the piano on TV and thought how cool it was to be able to do something like that as well as rap. And a few years later he had found himself similarly fascinated watching Kento play; sometimes secretly watching him play from a corner as he practiced before concerts. There was a beauty about it, about moving long fingers over the black and white keys and producing such wonderful melodies with eyes half-closed, getting almost lost in the performance…  
  
Fuma quickly shakes his head as if he can shoo away thoughts of Kento smiling as he played the instrument out of his head that way. “But we also don’t get any other opportunities to do the _other things_ when we’re not on tour.”  
  
Kento’s mouth twitches at that, reminding Fuma that what usually happens during tours in locked hotel rooms was originally supposed to stay there. But Kento brought it up first today, Kento hadn’t exactly protested when they had started to fall into bed together even when tours weren’t happening. Kento… was the one who had started it in the first place. He still remembers the way he’d dropped his water bottle and made a mess of their room when, after complaining about how impossible it was to get a girlfriend as a working idol, Kento, without looking up from his book, had said, “You know, if it’s just for the relief… I wouldn’t mind doing it with you. That’s easier than finding a girl, isn’t it?”  
  
That hadn’t really been what Fuma had meant, but somehow… Somehow things had gone from there. From a first awkward handjob to more and more experimenting until they had gone all the way. Fuma had figured that Kento would change his mind soon, that one day, he’d turn Fuma down when he crawled into the other boy’s bed. Or that maybe one of them would find a real partner. But somehow, in almost an entire year, that hadn’t happened.  
  
In the present, Kento looks like he’s about to say something Fuma doesn’t want to hear, so he lets his head fall back against Kento’s body behind him; pouting a little as looks up at him and asks, “Won’t you play something for me? I’ll concentrate better after that. Promise.”  
  
The long fingers he was thinking about just a moment ago card themselves through Fuma’s soft hair, playing with some of the blond strands as Kento smiles down at him, clearly amused. “I know what you’re doing,” he points out, but when Fuma only sticks out his lips more to strengthen his pout, he laughs. “Fine. But one day cozying up to me is not going to work anymore, just so you know.”  
  
Huffing, Fuma moves on the black piano bench to make room for Kento next to him, muttering, “I’ll start cozying up to Marius instead if you won’t indulge me anymore.”  
  
They both know that’s an empty threat, but Kento pretends to frown unhappily anyway once he’s settled down and takes Fuma’s face in his hands, squishing his cheeks in retribution. “Nope. That’s not allowed. Only I can see a spoiled Fuma-tan.”  
  
Fuma pretends to make a gagging sound, but stops readily enough when Kento leans in to kiss him silent.  
  
“What do you want me to play?”  
  
“Mh?” Fuma is pretty sure he can’t be blamed when it takes him a moment to remember what they were talking about before, shoving Kento’s shoulder when the other man laughs at him. “I don’t know. Did you learn anything new lately?”  
  
Kento shakes his head, still looking amused. He reaches out to press some of the keys, not starting any song, just playing around. “If you don’t choose anything, I won’t play.”  
  
“You’re no fun today,” Fuma whines, letting his head fall sideways onto Kento’s shoulder as he considers his options.  
  
“And you’re very cuddly today, but I like that.”  
  
“Only because it’s freezing in here and you’re the only source of warmth,” Fuma points out, not bothering to move his head. “Lion Heart. Can you still play that?”  
  
There’s a hum of confirmation before Kento starts cracking his fingers and moves them onto the keys. For a moment, Fuma wonders if he should move after all; he must be in the way like this. But Kento doesn’t ask him to, so eventually he just stays where he is; soaking in Kento’s warmth as he watches elegant fingers move over the keys in front of them, the melody of the song slowly drifting through the room. It takes him a moment to realize when Kento softly starts singing along and another to notice that he’s doing the same. They’ve only ever had the chance to play the short version on stage before, but here, where it’s just them with no audience around, they sing the whole song. Harmonizing is second-nature for them, their voices easily adjusting to each other and neither of them faltering when Kento messes up once or twice because he hasn’t played the piece in so long.  
  
When it’s over and Kento turns his head to look at him expectantly, eyes shining the way they always do when they can sing together like this, Fuma finally straightens himself to kiss him again, slow and languidly moving his lips against Kento’s.  
  
“I feel like we’re moving further away from the goal here,” Kento whispers against Fuma’s lips, eyes half-lidded and hardly seeming to mind.  
  
“That depends,” Fuma responds, lips finding their way to Kento’s jaw and kissing up the line of it. “On what your goal is. Because we’re getting closer to mine.”  
  
“You promised to practice properly after I played you something,” Kento reminds him, but his head easily falls to the side as Fuma starts kissing down his neck instead; previously clumsy fingers easily unbuttoning Kento’s shirt now to get more access.  
  
“I didn’t say how soon after.”  
  
“Cheat.”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
Uncharacteristically, Kento does as he’s told, though he pinches Fuma’s side lightly as he turns on the now too small bench to face Fuma properly, making Fuma laugh breathlessly and make Kento shiver in turn as the air brushes over his exposed neck.  
Impatient hands tug on his shirt and hips until he finally gives in and lets himself be pulled across Fuma’s lap, the position making it that much easier to press their mouths together again and nudge his tongue against Fuma’s lips until they part and he can slide it against Fuma’s instead. At some point, Kento’s hands have found their way beneath the hem of Fuma’s hoodie, using that hold to tug it upwards and separating their lips just long enough to pull it over Fuma’s head and letting it fall to the floor.  
  
He takes a moment to appreciate the sight of Fuma in just a black tank top, running his fingers over thin material and grinning when Fuma shivers visibly. If he had any say in the matter, he would make sure Fuma never got to wear any baggy clothes to hide all those muscles, but Fuma has his own taste in clothing and would probably wear a potato sack just to spite Kento if he ever commented on it. At least, this way the sight is reserved almost exclusively for him – whenever Fuma isn’t feeling exhibitionistic again to let thousands of screaming fans get a peek or a photographer asks him to take his clothes off.  
  
But other than that, Fuma’s all his.  
  
He’s so lost in his thoughts that for a moment, he almost doesn’t notice Fuma trying to push his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders, but he quickly reaches up to keep the white material where it is.  
  
“I don’t want this to get dirty,” he points out when Fuma frowns at his refusal to get naked and then, smugly, adds, “And it’s cold.”  
  
Fuma huffs a laugh and shakes his head, saying, “Fine,” before he starts unbuttoning Kento’s jeans. Those will have to go, Kento thinks, because sadly, skin-tight jeans don’t give you a whole lot of room to move. He gets off Fuma’s lap to wiggle out of them, looking around for a moment and eventually just carelessly throwing them behind him to land somewhere on the piano when he feels warm hands running over his exposed chest; looking up to find Fuma also on his feet, crowding him closely against the instrument behind them.  
  
There’s a loud clang of keys and Kento hastily shoves Fuma off him, ignoring the sulk he gets in return.  
  
“When I said I wanted to compose something with you, this is not what I meant,” he laughs breathlessly as he closes the piano lid before turning back around to welcome Fuma back into his arms. Fuma only smirks and follows willingly, making Kento yelp against his neck when he suddenly grabs his thighs and hefts him up and onto the key lid, the material cold against Kento’s bare skin. He swats at Fuma’s chest and tries to sulk, but can’t when Fuma’s lips suddenly move against his again. At least this way, he forgets about the cold fairly quickly, instead fisting his hands into the material of Fuma’s tank top and keeping him close.  
  
“Do you even have anything with you?”  
  
Fuma actually has the nerve to roll his eyes at him, one hand leaving Kento’s thigh to dig around his pockets. It hadn’t really occurred to Kento before, but there might be an advantage to baggy clothes after all: really big pockets.  
  
“Always be prepared,” Fuma says smugly as he wiggles a small tube of lube between his fingers.  
  
“Condom?” Kento asks, unimpressed.  
  
There’s a shrug before Fuma shakes his head. “We’ve gone without before, it’s okay, right?”  
  
Dark brown eyes settle steadily on Kento’s, making the other boy nod hesitantly. They had been responsible about things from the beginning, both getting tested before they moved on to more intimate ways to satisfy each other. At the time, it had been a precaution in case anything would ever go wrong. Now though…  
  
Fuma grins, his thoughts clearly going the same way as Kento’s. “And you like it better this way.”  
  
Kento’s cheeks are a dark burning red as he snatches the tube out of Fuma’s hands, unscrewing the lid to quickly press out a decent amount and slather it over Fuma’s fingers. Once he’s done, he reaches for Fuma’s pants, undoing the belt and zipper one-handedly so efficiently that Fuma actually quirks an eyebrow at him. Kento ignores it, because really, they both know where (or rather who with) he learned that.  
  
The younger man does help by pushing his underwear down, though he doesn’t bother getting out of any more clothes. It’s not that warm, really, but if Fuma knows Kento’s weaknesses, then the same can be said the other way around. Kento knows Fuma’s little clothes kink all too well and he doesn’t mind sitting there in nothing but an opened white shirt while Fuma is still more or less fully clothed.  
  
Using his clean hand, Kento squeezes some more lube out before dropping the now half-empty tube somewhere next to him and closing his other hand around Fuma’s erection. He’s almost fully erect already, making Kento wonder for how long he’d been thinking about doing this during their lesson. He takes his time stroking him to full hardness, occasionally glancing up to watch Fuma’s expression instead of his hand at work and biting his lip at the sight. Fuma’s got his eyes closed, head thrown back and brown strands of hair falling into his face, his lips parted slightly, tongue darting out every now and then to lick his lips. It makes Kento strain upwards from his position, kissing the corner of Fuma’s mouth once before he pulls back to watch as he squeezes him tighter.  
  
The motion makes Fuma moan and open his eyes, watching Kento watch him and grinning ever so slightly. Finally, the younger man lets his slicked fingers wander between Kento’s legs, skidding up the inside of his thighs just to hear Kento inhale sharply before finally half letting go of Fuma to lean back against the piano, spreading his legs easily to give Fuma better access.  
  
A pink tongue darts out again and Kento is momentarily distracted before he can finally feel the tips of Fuma’s fingers circling his rim, slicking him up there before the first finger carefully probes inside and Kento’s own fingers tighten around Fuma’s length as he speeds up his movements, as if encouraging him to go faster as well.  
  
Luckily, they don’t need much words between them and Fuma understands the invitation well enough, pushing in to the first and then second knuckle without much preamble before nudging in a second finger. Kento squirms a little on the hard material beneath him, almost slipping when the digits inside him start to scissor and probe and tease, sometimes grazing over his spot just barely and making him clench around them.  
  
By the time Fuma is spreading three fingers apart inside him, Kento’s hands have long since fallen back to his sides, clinging onto the piano lid as if his life depended on it; head thrown back and breathing harshly as his hips twitch up to get Fuma’s fingers in deeper when the other man pulls them almost all the way out.  
  
He’s almost surprised how much time Fuma takes for the foreplay today; but then there’s no hurry in a locked rehearsal room with absolutely no chance of anyone coming to look for them in the way there always is when they try to be quiet and quick before an early morning rehearsal or only a few walls away from their families.  Still, when he finally feels the fingers withdrawing, he’s almost relieved; riled up and wanting more, more, more – and knowing he won’t get it unless they end this part.  
  
Fuma’s hands settle back on his hips and he notices with some satisfaction that he’s not the only one so aroused when he hears Fuma’s voice, thick and rough whisper in his ear, “Turn around.”  
  
Kento follows the order without thinking, gracefully sliding down from the piano to lean over the lid and press his ass to Fuma’s crotch with a small smirk, rotating his hips until he can feel Fuma’s erection slip between his cheeks and hear the groan from the man behind him. It has the desired effect of Fuma taking hold of himself and guide himself into Kento’s body; both of them moaning this time as he slides in.  
  
Kento hangs his head for a moment, trying to catch his breath and relax when he can feel himself clenching tightly around Fuma inside him; the familiar fullness making him want to push back to get more and luckily, Fuma obliges soon, sinking all the way in until he bottoms out and Kento can feel him straightening him up behind him, probably taking a good look of the position Kento’s in.  
  
“Now, that’s a nice view,” he finally exhales and one hand runs over Kento’s back all the way to his neck where it finally meets naked skin, the gesture making a shiver run through Kento’s body.  
  
“What, you don’t want to see my face while we’re doing it?”  
  
It’s meant to sound teasing, but Fuma catches the hint of bitterness in Kento’s voice, that tiny bit of insecurity he doesn’t always manage to hide in situations like these, and growls, reaching out to turn Kento’s head straight ahead. “It’s a rehearsal room, stupid. I can see every part of you from all angles.”  
  
He can see the moment Kento realizes it, the moment his eyes widen and search for Fuma’s in the mirror. Because of course there are mirrors on every single wall in the room.  
  
“Oh,” Kento says meekly, then, “I don’t know how I feel about that.”  
  
“Well,” Fuma says and makes both him and Kento gasp when he rolls his hips. “I’m sure I can help you with figuring it out.”  
  
Kento doesn’t reply, doesn’t need to and is honestly not even sure he could manage a proper sentence when Fuma creates a rhythm; still so slow but only making the experience more intense, letting Kento feel every inch of him as he languidly slides in and out of him. The hand on the back of his neck has settled there, a reassuring heaviness that keeps Kento grounded as he lets his head fall forward, panting.  
  
After being made aware of the mirrors it’s hard to ignore them and when he actually dares to take a peek, he meets Fuma’s eyes every single time, a satisfied glint greeting him in midst of all that heat; making Fuma’s eyes appear so much darker than they usually are. Against popular belief, Kento isn’t narcissistic enough to want to see himself as he’s getting off, but the mirrors make it easy to watch Fuma behind him, muscles flexing as he moves against Kento; making the both of them moan with every other thrust.  
  
Kento can feel himself getting closer, but letting go of the piano right now would mean he’d lose his hold, so he meets Fuma’s eyes somewhat desperately, about to ask for help when he already sees the smirk on Fuma’s lips.  
  
The younger man leans over him then, changing the angle inadvertently and making Kento cry out in surprise and give a fully body shudder as he covers the length of his back. The warmth seeping from him now is almost too much with how hot Kento is already feeling and he whimpers a little when he feels the long fingers at the back of his neck gently squeezing as Fuma whispers, “I got you.”  
  
It’s all the warning he gets before Fuma’s still slightly slippery hand closes around his so far neglected length, hard and throbbing almost painfully between his legs. Kento forces himself to keep looking straight ahead, as much as he wants to close his eyes and just enjoy the sensation of Fuma all around him, filling him, taking care of him. Because actually getting to watch Fuma in this position gives it the intimacy it would usually lack, allowing Kento to see how perfectly they move together as his hips jerk almost frantically back and forth between Fuma’s attention in the back and he gasps as Fuma finally seems to lose the last of his restraint as well, pistoning into him at higher and higher speed. And finally, finally, as Fuma moves so his lips are pressed against the shell of Kento’s ear, panting harshly for a few long seconds before murmuring Kento’s name, Kento cries out as his orgasm hits him.  
  
For a moment he’s lost in the ecstasy of it, distantly aware that he’s much louder than usual and that the hand on his neck has moved to his biceps instead to support him. Fuma keeps thrusting into him through his high, barely slowing down before finally calling out as well and Kento feels like he just came a second time when he feels Fuma pulsing his release hot inside of him.  
  
It’s a miracle they don’t just crash to the floor after that, but thankfully Fuma manages to fall backwards onto the piano bench and pull Kento with him and into his lap; letting his forehead come to rest against Kento’s back as he tries to catch his breath.  
  
Kento is busy doing the same, but smiling stupidly when he looks down to find that Fuma’s arms are wrapped around his middle, making sure he doesn’t fall. Laughing breathlessly, Kento turns his head and reaches for Fuma’s chin to make him look up, shaking his head in fond exasperation as he sees how flushed and happy Fuma looks. Craning his neck to kiss him is the most natural thing in the world.  
  
“We need to use soundproof rooms more often,” Fuma jokingly says as they separate, letting go of Kento only enough that he can turn around in Fuma’s lap and wrap his arms around his neck. Getting up and getting dressed again requires too much effort for the moment and Fuma is radiating all the warmth he could possibly need, anyway.  He hopes Fuma feels the same, because all tangled up like this it’s actually impossible for the younger man to get up. Not that he seems to mind, as he presses a series of small kisses along Kento’s neck.  
  
Kento huffs out a laugh, freeing one slightly trembling hand to push it through Fuma’s long hair, pushing it out of his face. “I’m beginning to suspect that you had ulterior motives when you asked me to teach you how to play the piano. There’s a pattern to how our lessons end.”  
  
Fuma interrupts his caresses long enough to send Kento an almost disbelieving look. “Did you really think I couldn’t find a professional teacher if all I wanted was to learn the instrument?”  
  
There’s a brief pause before Kento thoughtfully replies, “I thought it was a bit odd. But I’m pretty good, so you shouldn’t switch teachers now.”  
  
Fuma pretended to think about it before finally nodding. “I’m sure they don’t provide such good services, anyway.”  
  
When Kento tries to flick his forehead with a laugh, they do end up crashing to the floor, but since Fuma ends up on his back below Kento and they’re still in a soundproof room with lots of time, he’s willing to count it as a win.


End file.
